


Let's Dance

by MissSunFlower94



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Banter, Caleb Thinks Too Much, Dancing Lessons, Harvest Close festival, M/M, Now a two-parter, Now with MORE FLIRTING, Really More Like Post Episode 16, Zemnian Folk Culture, post episode 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-27 03:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14416929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: Concept: Caleb teaches Molly a Zemnian danceWhat you might expect: sexual tension up to 11What you’re going to get: a polkaNow a two-parter: What is a festival without more dancing!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I lied twice in the description:  
> 1\. theres gonna be *some* sexual tension because you just can't avoid it  
> 2\. the dance I based this on is not technically a polka - I'll have links in the end note.

When the Mighty Nein return, successful in fulfilling their end of their arrangement, the Gentleman says “Stay for a drink! Celebrate your victory!”

It is not a request.

But as far as a forced party in the city’s criminal underbelly goes, it is not the worst time. The drinks cost them nothing and the atmosphere has as little tension as can be found in a place such as this.

Caleb Widogast participates in this as much as he does in anything. He has a few drinks, and listens to Beauregard, Fjord and Nott as they talk to Yasha. It’s not the interrogation they had subjected her and Mollymauk to the night before, but it is a near thing. She handles it with an enigmatic grace that only adds to everyone’s fascination with her. Caleb has a feeling she knows it, at least a little bit.

He also has a feeling the Gentleman wants them all drunk enough to forget much of the night and of him, and Caleb is all right with that. It’s an easy game to play along with; The Gentleman need not know that drink has never tampered with his ability to remember things in perfect detail. He orders another drink.

He’s long since tuned out the conversation with Yasha and has no interest in tuning back in. His eyes glance over the men with rifles posted at regular intervals, but he gives them no more than that glance, not unless he wants to spend the rest of the night thinking of them.

His eyes fall on Mollymauk and Jester across the room, dancing.

There’s a band of all things (a band of thieves, Caleb thinks, and nearly smiles), and while none of the instruments are exactly tuned, the tunes are jaunty and light. The two tieflings are stumbling through a dance, and it is _A Dance_ \- not the improvisational kind of movement he would have expected from Jester. Focusing, Caleb can see Molly is leading her with a level of surety that doesn’t look like bullshit for once.

Caleb doesn’t know much about the type of circus that had been Molly’s first and only home before the Nein, but he does remember carnivals that passed through his hometown. Larger, more organized, likely state-funded events, they were colorful affairs celebrating their culture with food and music and dance. Molly’s circus was little like that, seeming to be a smorgasbord of different cultures and different peoples. For how little he might know of himself, Caleb can believe Molly might know more of the world than many do in two years.

Watching Molly dance with Jester, Caleb thinks perhaps he is using her as a way to get out of conversation, and a way to distract himself from the stress being in this place might be making him feel. The black Tabaxi is nowhere to be seen, but with the way that interaction shook him, the possibility of running into her may still weigh on his mind.

“One! Two! Three! Four!”

Molly’s voice cuts over the music and chatter, counting out the number of times he and Jester clap. They take two steps away from each other, and clap the same four beats. Two steps back in and Molly takes her hands. Caleb watches his lips move - quieter now - leading Jester through the motions: A step and a hop, a step and a hop. He twirls her under one arm, and then attempts to go under hers; the jewelry on one horn gets caught in her sleeve and they stumble, trying to untangle it. By the time he is free they are both beside themselves in gales of laughter, Molly leaning on her for support. Getting himself together, he presses his lips to Jester’s head.

Or maybe, Caleb thinks, Molly is just enjoying himself.

He looks away.

Caleb is not jealous. He certainly has no reason to be. He has been on the receiving end of that kiss, of that cheerful grin and playful flirtation on more than one occasion. If he were to get up right now, he knows Molly would gladly dance with him.

But perhaps that is the problem: Mollymauk is not greedy with his affection or his trust, in a way that only someone not truly versed in betrayal and heartbreak can be. He hoards neither his soft kisses nor his flirtatious remarks for one or even a handful of people. He treats Jester with the same fondness in the two weeks they’ve known each other that he treats Yasha, the woman he has known all two years of his life. He takes the party to task in the same gentle reprimanding tone that he uses on bandits that could have killed them all in their sleep.

There’s no denying that there is naivete in the way the tiefling sees and reacts to the world. But there’s an _earnestness_ to it as well, an odd sincerity to contrast his constant bullshit attitude. It makes Caleb want to believe that Molly’s trust in the world, in the party, in him is not misplaced.

But that is something Caleb cannot do.

And that makes Mollymauk a problem.

Looking for the rest of the Nein, he’s both pleased and disappointed to see none of them have noticed the object of his attention. He doesn’t want to call Nott away from her conversation, doesn’t even know what he would say to her if he did. He wants her to have friends, truly, and it is lovely to see her begin to open up. He won’t take that away from her, just because he wishes to be distracted.

Caleb sighs, his thoughts getting him nowhere. He taps his fingers on the table to the beat of the music and realizes his foot has also been keeping time for a while now. Frowning, he closes his eyes and listens more intently to the music. When it hits him, his eyes blink open and he sits back in surprise.

This is a Zemnian folk song.

The instruments in this shady bar are out of tune and aren’t in the right key (and aren’t even the right sorts of instruments to be playing this song), but for the second time that night, Caleb’s mind transports him back to the festivals he knew from, oh, ages ago. A lifetime ago, really. In his mind’s eye he can see colorful streamers and stalls of food vendors and can picture perfectly the dancers in traditional Zemnian dress as they performed to this very song. Confidant that no one is watching him, he allows himself a smile before Mollymauk’s voice catches his attention again.

Caleb focuses on the tieflings again, as Molly gives Jester counts again for this dance. One, two, three - two, two, three - three, two, three - four, two, three. She stands in front of him, and he has both her hands - left held higher than right. With three counts she crosses in front of him to his right, swapping which hands are held aloft as well. They hold three counts and she passes back.

The music speeds up, keeping the three-count time. The pair takes a step and a hop to the right, and again, before Jester switches sides again and they repeat the step to the left. Caleb recognizes that. It is, so far, the _only_ part of the dance that he has recognized.

Caleb can feel himself frowning as he scrutinizes the dance far more than he knows is warranted. The dance looks familiar to the ones he would watch performed, but it is not exact. The counts are correct, as is parts of the way it began, but Molly is not holding Jester correctly and there is a whole third movement entirely omitted.

It should not bother him. There are likely many versions of this dance in the world and he cannot begrudge Molly what version the circus must have taught him. But the dissonance between what he is watching and what plays in his mind won’t let him rest. He spares a glance at Nott, who is in the process of showing Yasha something shiny (he doesn’t know what, and is not sure he wants to), and has a rare thought: _fuck it_.

He pushes himself up from the table, and goes over to the pair of tieflings.

Molly and Jester notice him coming long before he reaches them and while the music has continued, they have ceased the not-quite-Zemnian dance by the time he is near enough to converse. Molly has his characteristic smirk as he looks Caleb over, and he remembers his earlier thought- that Molly would not hesitate to dance with him if he offered. He nearly shakes his head to dispel the thought.

“Hello Caleb!” Jester says brightly. “Is it time to go?”

He debates saying yes; it would be easier, and really they should be leaving soon. “Ah- no. I was-”

“Did you want to dance?” She asks.

“ _No_. No- I was only wondering where you had learned it - that dance, I mean.”

Molly shrugs. “Where I learned everything. The circus taught it to groups when we were in one place for a while. Can’t tell you where they learned it, can’t tell you that they even knew. These things sort of just get passed on word of mouth, you know?”

“Ah- that- that does make sense,” Caleb says, unsure where he had planned to take this conversation next.

Molly seems to catch his lost expression. “What’s got you so curious about this one that it couldn’t wait?”

“Well I know it is a Zemnian dance, or should be.”

“’Should be’?” Molly echoes, beginning to smile.

Caleb thinks this may have been a very bad idea. “Ah, only parts of it are the same as what I- what I know. That is what confused me, and why I-”

Molly is grinning now. “Why you came over to correct us. I see. You’re going to show us the difference now, of course.”

This had been a very _very_ bad idea. “No- no. No, I do not know-”

“Then how did you know it was wrong?”

“I did not say it was _wrong_ ,” he says quickly. “I was only-”

“No no no no no,” Molly says, still with his most wicked smile. “I would hate to butcher something from your culture.”

Caleb is ready to protest again when Jester adds, “You can teach it to me if it will make you less nervous.”

Not about to touch on why Jester thinks he is nervous around Mollymauk, certainly not with Molly right there, he takes a composing breath. “There is nothing wrong with what you are doing, I only meant to compare.”

“But you’ve given _me_ nothing to compare.” Molly points out. “Caleb, Caleb, Caleb - you can’t keep all your discoveries to yourself.”

“It has been working for me so far,” Caleb returns, but his automatic response lacks the bite. Molly’s words are reminiscent of arguments the party has had with him in the past but his tone is not judgmental, it’s inviting.

At his dry response, Molly simply raises his eyebrow.

Mollymauk Tealeaf is a frustratingly inviting individual.

Jester claps her hands, alerting the two of them to her presence again. “Well okay you two - have fun! I’m going to see if they have water!” She takes a few steps away before turning back with a dramatic point in his direction. “We’re not leaving until you dance, Caleb!”

Caleb and Molly watch her as she skips back to the group. The group that is _absolutely_ watching them now. Caleb can feel his face growing warm.

“Well,” Molly says, noticing the same thing he has. “Always been my motto that if you’re gonna have an audience might as well give them a show.”

“I have noticed.” The hospital is still fresh in his mind. “And you might have noticed my motto is very much the opposite.”

Molly laughs, but again it is a warm thing; delighted rather than mocking. “A shame: I’ve found you’re quite good at making a scene.” He holds out both hands. “Show me what else you’re good at.”

Well that’s needlessly suggestive. Caleb knows he is blushing as he stiffly replies, “If you’re implying that that is dancing you are going to be disappointed.”

“Impossible,” Molly returns sweetly.

As if on cue, the musicians have reached a part in the song where it loops back to the start (Caleb wonders if they’re watching them, too).

And then Caleb thinks fuck it, again. Just _fuck it_. 

“Alright. Fine. Come here.” He beckons Molly closer. “You- ah, we- it starts similar to what you did, but not exact. Stand on my right.”

Mollymauk drops his hands and moves as commanded, but not before saying, “Am I not leading then?”

“Later, perhaps,” Caleb says thoughtlessly. Hoping to circumvent whatever suggestive reply the tiefling no doubt is thinking to make, Caleb puts his arm around him so it rests just on his back.

Molly stiffens, ever so slightly, but says nothing. He looks at him, all at once his mischief gone and in its place something Caleb can only call curiosity. It does not make him any more comfortable.

Caleb closes his eyes a moment, taking a breath. “Right, so you take the three counts to pass in front. It- usually it is a three step turn-” Molly again does as instructed, and Caleb adjusts so now his left arm rests at the tiefling’s back. Molly steadies his hand on Caleb’s forearm. “On the hold you step out with your left foot-” he does so. “And I step with my right. Now you come back-”

He switches hands, letting Molly spin to his other side, and has to lean back to keep the adornments on his horns from smacking him in the face. He doesn’t need to be told to step out with his right foot this time, which doesn’t surprise Caleb: the fact that Molly has remembered so many dances from the circus is a testament to his own ease at picking up new things and retaining that knowledge. An ironic skill, given his circumstances.

When the music picks up, Caleb continues, “This is the same as what you showed Jester - the skip… thing.” He’s only somewhat aware of what he’s saying. He was never formally taught any of this; he is only putting words to dances he hasn’t seen in over a decade. “Only moving forward rather than- am I right assuming the circus also taught this as many people around a circle.”

Molly nods. He is taking this weirdly seriously; it makes Caleb both more and less comfortable with the entire thing. On one hand, it makes it easier to focus on quietly speaking the counts, on giving instructions to a dance he has only ever watched. On the other hand, it makes it very easy to forget how ridiculous this really is: Caleb Widogast teaching Mollymauk Tealeaf Zemnian folk dances in a bar that belongs to a shadowy criminal organization, and maybe enjoying it more than he would admit to anyone. 

Caught up in their momentum, Caleb shifts, still keeping an arm around Molly’s waist but moving to take his other hand, bringing them face to face (as close as they were when Molly had pinned him to a wall – not that he is thinking of that). Molly’s eyes are a little wide and Caleb realizes he didn’t speak this step aloud. They miss their count and for a second simply hold each other.

“This is - ah - where it is very different.”

“I… noticed as much.” They’re silent for a second longer before Molly clears his throat. “So we…?”

“Right. Right. Yes. Like this.” Caleb steps, leading, and Molly follows through what functions as a fast-paced waltz. Spinning to one-two-three, one-two-three. And, for two people who had never actually danced this before, they stay in time with the music and each other. In what part of his brain is not focused on staying in time, or on being so very close to Molly, Caleb wonders if people who fight well together dance well together or vise versa, and what it means that he and Molly are this... compatible. 

Thankfully, the music slows at that moment, cutting the thought short. Caleb steps away and Molly allows himself to be released. His expression is unreadable and he’s - well it’s harder to if someone who is purple is blushing, but Caleb is certain his cheeks are a shade of lavender darker than normal. “So that’s- that’s it then?”

“Ah- yes. It’s usually repeated a few times, of course, but-”

“I think I have the idea,” Molly’s voice is doing a too-casual thing that Caleb recognizes as what he does when he is nervous. “You know, you’re really a natural at this.”

“What, at dancing?”

“At teaching,” Molly says, and it’s almost funny: he’s only just held the tiefling in his arms and yet it’s _here_ that Caleb’s breath catches in his throat.

So Caleb does what he does when nervous: he deflects. “I am nothing special, I was only working from memory. You- you are very good. I have noticed you learn things quickly.” Molly, if anything, flushes darker and Caleb rubs the back of his neck, thinking of how to clear the odd tension. “It is a good thing, if you are going to teach this to Jester.”

It is the right thing to say. Molly is surprised for a second and then breaks into a very delighted grin. More delighted than Caleb thinks is quite warranted until he says, “And she can teach it to Fjord.”

Caleb takes a moment to picture that, before he quickly looks away and covers his laugh with a small cough. From the corner of his eye he sees Molly’s smile grow. 

“Heeey-o! Lovebirds!” Jester’s voice cuts across the room with ease, making them both start. “We are leaving now!” 

Mollymauk gives a dramatic sigh. “Well, another time I suppose.” It takes Caleb a second before he puts together that Molly must be talking about teaching the dance to Jester.

“It does seem likely that we will be back here somewhat regularly,” he agrees. “There will be plenty of dancing later.”

Molly glances at him sidelong. “Is that a promise?” Before he can possibly answer, Molly winks at him - his mischief turned back on like someone had flipped a switch - and all but skips back towards the Nein.

Caleb shakes his head, absently straightens his coat, and follows.

This is becoming a very big problem. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're getting dancing, but you're also getting more banter than you signed up for. I'm not sorry.  
> Notes at the bottom, again, for dance information.

The streets of Zadash look like they’ve caught fire.

Lines of colorful paper are strung between buildings, wreathes of autumn foliage adorn ever lamp post, streamers of reds and golds hang from windows and street vendor stalls and when the evening’s setting sun hits it all just right, the entire city looks as though it is ablaze.

Perhaps that is why Caleb feels distracted throughout the day. The breeze rustles the festive papers around them, light catching their movement and turning them into dancing firelight for a fraction of a second, before they settle again. He sighs and tries for the umpteenth time to direct his attention elsewhere.

He is usually rather fond of autumn, of the warm days transitioning to crisp evenings. He is usually equally fond of the festivals that surround the season, and had hoped that perhaps this day might be one he could actually enjoy with his motley little group.

But things so rarely worked out the way Caleb hoped.

“-What about you, Caleb?”

He starts, turning towards the address and meeting Jester’s expectant gaze, closer than she was the last time he had paid attention to their order.

He is, as he so often is, towards the back of the group as they wander some of the less populous backstreets. They’ve spent much of the day on the main thoroughfare, perusing street vendors and watching performances on various stages that have been set up over the last few days. Enjoyable as it has been, even the more sociable of the Nein (Mollymauk) seem content to step off the bustling streets to eat some of the food they have purchased and actually be able to hear each other talk.

Not that Caleb has been hearing anyone. “What?” He asks Jester.

She looks neither surprised nor offended to find that Caleb has not been listening to anything the party has been saying for minutes now. The Mighty Nein have begun to pick up his habits, have begun to know him. He isn’t sure how he feels about that yet.

“We’re talking about other Harvest Close festivals. I guess Beau and I are the only ones who have ever been to one before now. What about you?”

Caleb takes a second to file that information away. It doesn’t surprise him that Yasha, Nott or Molly have not seen one before, but he expected it of Fjord. “I have not had a Harvest Close festival, exactly,” he says. “The Zemni Fields has a festival for the fall but it has a different name, and it is not quite so large.”

It is not _remotely_ as large. Caleb remembers thinking of his home festivals in comparison to Molly’s troupe, considering them to be larger and more put-together events, but in hindsight they are a candle to Zadash’s bonfire.

Summoned either by his thoughts, or more likely by the mention of the Zemni Fields, Mollymauk hangs back from speaking with Yasha and Nott (sitting on her shoulders) so he can fall into step with the two of them. “What do they call it?”

“Just ‘Autumn Festival’,” Caleb says with a shrug.

“In Common or in Zemnian?”

He doesn’t know why it matters, but Mollymauk has always been one to latch on to the details he does not expect to be latched on to. “Zemnian. It is ah- _Oktoberfest_.”

“Oooh!” Jester says, eyes going wide, “That sounds much cooler than Harvest Close!” 

“Much cooler,” Yasha agrees from in front of them, with about as much enthusiasm as she says anything. Caleb bites this inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

“Agreed,” Molly says and he’s looking at Caleb in a way that makes him think his smile was not as hidden as he had hoped, but does not call attention to it. “Sounds more majestic somehow. _Oktoberfest_.”

“It means the same thing,” Caleb points out dryly. “And your accent is horrendous.”

Mollymauk puts a hand on his chest with an theatrical gasp. “Caleb, you wound me! Most people call it ‘ _disarmingly sexy_ ’.”

Oh Caleb is sure they do. “Most people have not heard you try to speak Zemnian.”

Molly pouts, and it is both more amusing and more adorable than Caleb wants it to be. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to teach me until it improves,” he says, and Caleb’s slowly blooming smile dies before it reaches his lips.

It has been nearly a week since their job for the Gentleman and the party that was held in the Evening Nip after they had returned. It has been nearly a week since, at Mollymauk’s playful prodding, Caleb had taught him a Zemnian festival dance, the kind of dance they’d have at _Oktoberfests_ back home. It has been nearly a week since Molly’s offhand compliment about Caleb’s skill at teaching had flustered him more than even their close proximity and he still couldn’t quite explain why.

Molly catches his expression and his dramatic frown turns more genuine and _damn_ , Caleb is used to being hard to read. Before the tiefling can speak, however, Nott calls over. “Caleb! Caleb, I have something for you! Come here!”

Unsure what his friend could have found for him while sitting on Yasha’s shoulders, Caleb does as he is told, keeping his eyes away from Molly as he passes. “What is it?”

Nott grins, and it is Caleb’s favorite grin – the kind that nearly splits her face in two, showing all her teeth. It is a grin Nott only uses not only when she is happy, but when she is comfortable enough to not be self-conscious of her appearance. Proudly she extends a woven flower crown in his direction. Caleb realizes, at her vantage point, Nott could and did grab a number of flowers off of street lamp garlands and hanging pots. 

“That is very nice.” They’re not very neatly woven, and look like a too-strong breeze would force them apart again, but it is the thought that counts. “They might blend in with my hair, I think. Perhaps Jester would like them.”

“It wouldn’t fit around my horns!” Jester says from behind him. 

Well, he can say he tried - and he doesn’t really mind Nott’s new habit of putting flowers on him every chance she gets. Certainly he does not feel too dignified for such things; he has long since stopped having dignity. “Alright then,” he says and inclines his head towards Nott. Yasha stops walking in order to keep her steady as Nott very regally places the flowers atop his head.

He hears a slow clap and knows it’s Mollymauk even before the tiefling speaks. “Such grace! You’ve been crowned king of _Oktoberfest_!”

Caleb shoots him a look. “I regret telling you that; you make it sound ridiculous.”

“That’s what I’m best at.”

From the front of their grouping Beau - who until this point Caleb had not believed was paying them any attention - calls back, “Ain’t that the fucking truth!”

Molly flips her off but he’s still smiling, seeming to know full well that she isn’t looking.

“You look very nice,” Jester says, walking next to him along one side. “It looks like your hair is on fire.” 

Caleb stiffens, managing to barely suppress the sudden urge to take the crown off immediately. “I- that is not-” 

“Nah, that’s not right,” Molly says, smoothly taking his place on Caleb’s other side. When Caleb turns to him, his expression is as cheerful and mischievous as ever. “He looks like he’s sprouting flowers.” 

Jester considers this. “He does, doesn’t he? Caleb, you are turning into a tree, like Fjord is turning into water.”

“We are doing neither of those things. Hopefully,” he adds, just to be safe (the world sure loves to jinx them), but he feels the tension in his body uncoil. If Mollymauk has noticed the effect of his distraction he does not show it, and Caleb isn’t sure if he is relieved or disappointed.

Instead he nearly collides with Yasha’s back, as the woman stopped just before colliding with Fjord’s back. Caleb cranes his neck to look past the two taller figures, and sees that their peaceful little alleyway has reached its end - meeting up with what looks to be a confluence of many streets, forming an open (and by the sounds of it, bustling) square. 

“Weren’t we just here?” Fjord asks no one in particular.

Molly doesn’t move forward, but leans around to get a better look at the square, speaking absently. “’All roads lead to Zadash’?”

“All roads lead away from Zadash,” Beau deadpans. “People just take them the wrong way.”

“You’re a poet,” Molly says, sarcastically. Without looking back, Beau flips _him_ off. Caleb struggles not to laugh.

He is only just sure that he has schooled his expression into something neutral when Molly makes a soft ‘ _oh_ ’ sound. 

“Well would you look at what we found, Caleb,” he says, his eyes still trained on the open square before them. His voice is pitched low, meant for his ears alone. “Dancing.”

Before Caleb can think to respond - or frankly, think _at all_ after that statement - Jester perks up. “Dancing?” She jumps up and down trying to look over shoulders, before finally pushing forward so she stands between Fjord and Beau at the front. “What kind of dancing? Is it Molly kind of dancing?” 

Molly laughs, shaking his head. Caleb exhales a bit gustily as he watches Mollymauk leave his side to stand by his fellow tiefling and dancing partner. This is good, he tells himself. Molly will dance with Jester, just like before. 

But because things simply _cannot_ go the way he plans, he hears Molly’s voice a moment later. “Well, I certainly don’t know this one. Hey Caleb!” He calls back cheerfully. “Come here and tell us if this is another Zemnian dance!”

If it is, Caleb is not going to say so. But he obediently comes forward, pointedly ignoring the way both Jester and Beau are looking between him and Molly. 

Finally at the front of the group, Caleb can actually see what everyone is talking about: there is a flagpole in the center of this square, impermanent-looking and likely set up for the festival, and at it’s base a small band is playing a simple tune. In a circle around them are many, many citizens of Zadash. All ages, various races, all common folk dressed in as fine of festival clothes as they could likely put together. 

The music is not Zemnian, and the dance certainly not Zemnian. “I do not know it, either,” he says, a little glad that it is the truth. 

Still, he stays where he is and watches the dance as it continues. The music has a slow, steady beat. The pairings of people - and they are coupled together - take small, simple steps. Two to the right, two to the left. Then one to the right and one to the left. Moving to face one another, they take three steps, spinning away form each other and then clapping before spinning back in. They switch places and repeat the spin and clap, before returning to their first position and the whole thing begins again.

“Doesn’t look hard to learn,” Mollymauk observes. Caleb starts, surprised that the tiefling’s thoughts so closely mirrored his own. He has been focused a while, he realizes, and much of their party has separated to watch the dance more comfortably. Caleb sees Nott has somehow found more flowers and is weaving them into Yasha’s braids.

He feels Molly’s eyes on him, and when he looks back a hand is extended cordially. “Shall we? I’ll lead, if you’d like.” 

He can feel heat rise to his face, and his heart pounds a little too hard in his chest. “Ah- I am sure- wouldn’t Jester rather-”

Molly grins, wicked and amused. “You really do space out, don’t you? Her dance card’s full.” He jerks a thumb out toward the dancers again, just as Jester pulls Fjord with her into the circle - couples gladly opening space for them. Fjord’s face is a dark muted red and Caleb thinks he looks close to afraid. 

A corner of his mouth turns up, in spite of himself. “And if we go to join them we will not be able to watch.”

Mollymauk laughs. “You know me, darling; much more of a participant than a spectator.” 

He wants to make a biting remark about how well the group can possibly know him, but the ‘ _darling_ ’ causes his brain to freeze long enough for the remark to die before it can form. 

And, well, Mollymauk is right. Caleb _does_ know that about him; that he enjoys the spotlight and that he, too, has no sense of dignity whatever, and that he seems to enjoy learning new things as much as he does (although their taste in _new things_ varies wildly, the excitement in learning is there and is recognizable). And as much as he has been struggling to avoid it, Caleb knows that Molly knows him too. He knows that Caleb could protest this much more stubbornly if he really wanted to avoid this, and the fact that he hasn’t can only mean one thing.

At least the they are not the only party members dancing, and he will not be the center of everyone’s attention. 

With as much ease as he is capable of, Caleb puts his hand in Molly’s.

Like with Fjord and Jester, the circle of dancers opens up when they join them. This dance isn’t led in the same way the dance Caleb taught Mollymauk had been, which is probably for the best since neither of them really know who should take the lead. In the end they settle on Molly being in what served as that part. 

The music has picked up speed by the time they join, apparently with the musicians having decided that the dancers understood what they were doing by their third or fourth go around. Thankfully, both of them are quick studies, and the up in speed doesn’t throw them. Caleb can hear Molly quietly speaking the steps aloud, likely for his own benefit as much as for Caleb’s. 

They go through it twice, simply enough that Caleb doesn’t need all of his focus of the steps and finds it wandering to things like the way the fading sunlight catches on Mollymauk’s jewelry, the way his coat flairs out when he spins, the lopsided smile on his face when they step together and then apart again. 

So he is caught completely by surprise when the music speeds up again. 

He stumbles a little through a step left and hears Mollymauk laugh softly. “Do you think this is how it is supposed to go, or are they doing it to fuck with us?”

“Could be both,” Caleb says.

When it loops to the beginning again, the musicians speed up once more. 

“Oh dear,” Molly says, still with easy good humor. “I think you’re right.”

The tune begins to steadily increase with speed, and as the dancers stumble through keeping in time laughter begins to fill the square. With what little attention Caleb can spare on their surroundings, he begins to see couples stepping out of the circle breathless as much with exertion as with laughter, leaning on each other for support.

“What-” Calev says, short of breath himself, “do you suppose - one gets - if they’re the last - ones left?”

Molly is grinning, his face a little flushed and laughter wrinkling the corners of his red eyes. “Want to - find out?”

"I am not sure - how much more of this - I can handle,” he admits with a rueful smile of his own. They spin away from each other, clap, and when they spin back together Caleb’s vision takes a moment to catch up with him and he stumbles, leaning heavily enough onto Molly that the tiefling stumbles a bit himself.

“Aye, I think we’re done,” he says, keeping a hand on Caleb’s arm and stepping them outside the circle - which is all well and good because they speed up, _again_. “I feel like if we looked into it there are probably stories of people being trampled in this dance.”

Caleb laughs at the concept of there being sordid histories behind types of dances. It sounds very much like something Molly would know. 

“Looks like Jester and Fjord are still going strong,” Molly observes. 

“If it is a competition, Jester will settle for nothing other than winning,” Caleb says. “Poor Fjord.”

Molly shakes his head. “Poor Fjord, indeed. It’s a good thing he didn’t drink as much as some of us did earlier. Though now I’m wondering about some of these other fine couples.” He links his arm more comfortably with Caleb’s. “Come on, let’s watch this from a safer distance.”  

They take no more than two steps before Molly stops them again “Ah! One second!” He stoops down to retrieve something off the dusty stone street, straightening with Nott’s flower crown in his hands, which clearly had been flung from his head at some point in all the spinning (it is, by some miracle, still holding together). “Nott would hate me if you lost this.”

He settles the crown back on Caleb’s head with more care than is perhaps necessary, and his hands linger on the sides of his face ever so slightly longer than need be, and Caleb’s heart is pounding a little faster than the can be solely blamed on the exertion from dancing. 

“There,” Mollymauk says, suddenly dropping his hands and dusting them on his coat. He doesn’t take Caleb’s arm again. “There you are. King of _Oktoberfest_ again.”

Caleb groans, internally more grateful for a reason to be irritated than he is actually irritated. “If you keep this up I will have to teach you Zemnian just so you will stop offending my ears.”

“That’s the goal, darling,” Molly says sweetly. His long legs take him a few steps ahead of Caleb and Caleb lets him go.

It means he doesn’t see it when Caleb brings a hand to absently touch his cheek where Molly’s hands brushed so lightly a moment ago, feeling the heat in his face and knowing he must be blushing quite red indeed. He slows a bit more, watching Molly as he walks away as the setting sunlight catches on his coat's embroidery until it looks liked the embers of a dying fire.

Oh, he thinks. Oh _dear_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're dancing a renaissance faire dance called the Korobushka. It's a dance that exists outside of ren faires but the way they're doing it, with the music speeding up, is basically specific to faires.  
> Here's a link to what they're dancing to, with the increase in speed and all:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3QnarLjIbLY

**Author's Note:**

> The name of the dance I based this on is "Varsovienne" and there are about 6 hundred different versions of how it goes, and I combined a lot of them together for the purposes of this. But here are links to the closest versions to what I wrote- 
> 
> The version Molly and Jester were doing: https://youtu.be/8PhZDmjQs_U
> 
> The version Caleb taught Molly: https://youtu.be/gl9McD3BGpw
> 
> (apologizes for the quality on both)


End file.
